


King and Lionheart

by nerdyydragon



Series: King and Lionheart [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Backstory, Brooklyn Boys, Canon Compliant, Canon Disabled Character, Canon-Typical Violence, Captain America: The First Avenger, Eventual Relationships, Gen, IfYouKnowWhatIMean, Original Character(s), Period Typical Attitudes, Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger, Pre-Serum, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Retelling, Slow Burn, like reeeeaaallly slow burn, mostly - Freeform, tags/ratings/relationships subject to change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-05-29 06:04:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15066758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdyydragon/pseuds/nerdyydragon
Summary: Looking back, years later, Steven Grant Rogers could probably pinpoint where it all started. Innocently enough, of course, as it always does. He remembers it like it was yesterday, and, in some cases, he could be convinced that it was. The summer heat of Brooklyn hasn’t changed all that much, after all.It begins like this: with a hair-ribbon, a loose tooth, and a smile as bright as the sun.





	King and Lionheart

**Author's Note:**

> I'm actively pretending the end of IW didn't happen, and that the rumours floating around aren't true. This is part one of a collection that starts as a retelling and also operates "off-screen," and doesn't do our Brooklyn Boys so dirty. What do you think the odds are that I can finish going through all of canon that involves Steve and/or Bucky, and write A4 before it comes out?

Looking back, years later, Steven Grant Rogers could probably pinpoint where it all started. Innocently enough, of course, as it always does. He remembers it like it was yesterday, and, in some cases, he could be convinced that it was. The summer heat of Brooklyn hasn’t changed all that much, after all.

It begins like this: with a hair-ribbon, a loose tooth, and a smile as bright as the sun.

* * *

* * *

 

Sitting outside on the bench, Steve wonders why his ma had been so worried about sending him to school. (He’s seven years old, and hasn’t quite grasped what ma and the doctors keep telling him about his health, and how he needs to be careful). Sure, he doesn’t have many friends, but nobody really does, not at this age. The girls are far more interested in discovering who can draw the prettiest, and the boys are trying to find a way to fly to space.

It doesn’t really help, of course, that he can’t run very far, or very fast, and he can’t play baseball to save his life. It means that he always sits out when the boys play sports. But ma says that’s okay, because it just means that God’s given him other gifts to make up for the ones he lacks. He just has to find them.

So he sits, with the sketchpad his ma had given him for his birthday, pencil in hand, trying his best to capture his schoolmates at lunch break. The doctors say he could be a great artist someday, and Steve wants to do everything he can to live up to what the nice men think of him (it helps him not think about the way their eyes get sad when they look at him, sometimes, or the times he finds his ma sitting at the kitchen table with her head buried in her arms, shoulders shaking). He likes the easy black and white of the pencil on paper - he doesn’t have to try to decide on a colour.

“Hey, leave it, buster!” Steve doesn’t quite hear the words, at first, mixed in as they are with the shouting from the other kids, but when another voice chimes in with a “hey!” his ears perk up. Setting his sketchpad on his lap, eyes scanning the courtyard, he can see a group of girls clustered around one another, two boys with their backs to him.

“What’cha gonna do about it? Huh?” He hears the jeering, a third boy joining the group, and the boys turn. The biggest one, Jimmy Baxter, is tugging repeatedly on one of the girls’ hair ribbons. Steve doesn’t know her name, but he _does_ know Jimmy, who’s a year older than him and always stealing other kids’ lunch money. Steve, even at the age of seven, knows that hate is a strong word and that it’s not nice to feel that way, but he _hates_ Jimmy Baxter. He’s nothing more than a big, mean, bully, and right then and there he decides he has to do something, since nobody else is going to.

Slipping the sketchpad and the pencil - closed - underneath the bench he’s sitting on, well out of the way of everyone else, Steve gets up, a little wobbly at first, and puts on his best serious face as he makes his way over there. The girls keep shouting, and nobody seems to be doing anything.

“Hey,” he tries, his voice a little hoarse, and maybe he’s a little bit thirsty, but it doesn’t matter now. The third boy in the group turned and saw him, and if Steve had any notions of backing out - which he didn’t, _thank you very much_ \- there wasn’t much he could do about it. He tries again. “Hey, leave her alone!”

It’s enough to get their attention. The whole group whips around, and at first Jimmy looks a little nervous, like he might be expecting one of the older boys. He his eyes finally settle on Steve, and he grins.

“And what’re you gonna do? Huh?” The closer he gets, the more Steve remembers all those times Jimmy tried to steal someone’s lunch money, or nicked their notebook, or tripped someone in the hall. “Little Stevie Rogers, tryna save the day.” It gets a laugh from the boys, and Jimmy gives the ribbon another tug, just to make a point. The girl it belongs to suppresses a whine as her whole head jerks sideways.

“I said leave her alone. She ain’t done nothin’ to ya.”

Jimmy finally lets go, and the group of girls scamper off to a safe distance to watch. _Nobody_ wants to be near Jimmy when he’s in a mood like this, and Steve can see that they’re torn between amusement and fear. At least he got what he wanted.

The three boys crowd him, Jimmy square in front of him and the other two off to the side. He’s already feeling boxed in, but it’s too late to back out.

“Well? Ya got my attention, now what’cha gonna do wit it?” It’s easier to make out what he’s saying when they’re face to face like this, but that doesn’t make it any easier to concentrate.

“God don’t like bullies, Jimmy. What would yer ma say?” He comes off braver than he feels, taking as deep a breath as he dares and tries to puff out his chest. All it gets him is a chuckle.

“My _ma_ ain’t here right now, Rogers. And last I checked, _you_ ain’t God.”

He should have seen this coming, really, but at seven he wasn’t quite skilled at thinking things through before they happened, he just knew he had to do something, and that _something_ tended to be not backing down. Jimmy’s fist hits him in the jaw, and while he isn’t _that_ much smaller, Jimmy sure is stronger than him. If it weren’t for the two other boys, Steve was sure he would have gone down like a bag of rocks in a river.

Trying to remember what his ma taught him, Steve rights himself, balls his hand into a fist and swings, blindly, in the general direction of Jimmy Baxter, and by some sheer stroke of luck, he connects. When his vision clears, he can see Jimmy holding his mouth.

“You knocked out my tooth!” Except it comes out ‘you knocket outh my thooth,’ and Steve can’t stop the little giggle that escapes him. Sure enough, Jimmy’s missing one of his front teeth, and Steve’s giggle stops short when the other boy grins. Two sets of arms lock around his own, and Steve can feel his eyes go wide when he sees Jimmy gearing up to hit him again, this time much harder than the first. His knee wobbles a little bit as the adrenaline starts to fade, but he sets his face and closes his eyes, preparing for the worst. If he’s gonna go home with a shiner (again) at the hands of Jimmy Baxter ( _again_ ) this time he doesn’t want to see it coming.

But the punch never comes. There’s a sound like a scuffle, and then he’s dropping to his knees onto the asphalt, and the pressure on his sides is gone, replaced with a hand on his shoulder. Warily, Steve opens one eye, and then the other, and he isn’t prepared for what he sees. The boy in front of him has the bluest eyes he’s ever seen, a lock of thick, chestnut hair falling into his eyes. He grins as he helps Steve up, and Steve’s pretty sure he went blind, just then, with the full force of it.

Steve almost goes numb with shock as he lets himself be dusted off, unsure who this boy is and why he’s so keen on being seen with him. He thinks he might recognize him from the year up, but he isn’t sure. When a hand is offered, he blinks at it slowly, eyes darting between the hand and the smile, which has dimmed to a normal brightness, or has at least stopped reflecting the sun into Steve’s eyes.

“I’m James,” the boy says, his hand still hovering in midair. “But you can call me Bucky.” Steve ponders the nickname for a moment, wondering how the boy in front of him could have possibly gotten it.

“Steve,” he replies. He slaps his hand into Bucky’s, and he’s greeted with another blinding grin.

“Now that we’ve got that out of the way,” Bucky says, but Steve doesn’t really hear it. He’s still too focused on how this kid, who doesn’t even know him, pulled him from the hands of Jimmy Baxter, and more importantly, _why_ . “Let’s get you cleaned up. And while we’re doin’ that, yer gonna tell me just _what on earth_ you were thinkin’, pickin’ a fight with _Jimmy Baxter_.” His brain tunes in enough to answer the question, and it helps that Bucky’s managed to land himself on Steve’s left, arm around his shoulders as they walk.

“I don’t like bullies, and Baxter’s a bully if I ever saw one.” It gets a good, long laugh out of Bucky, and Steve wonders if the older boy might choke. He can’t tell if the laugh is mocking or not.

“Punk,” he says when he can speak, knocking Steve’s head into his (slightly higher) shoulder with the arm still securely around him. Steve decides that Bucky’s just joking, but he isn’t sure what possesses him to fire off a quip back.

“Jerk,” he replies, and it sets Bucky off laughing again. Steve decides he likes the sound.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are appreciated!


End file.
